


Milk and Honey

by tiggeryumyum



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Ass Play, Fondling, Groping, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-29
Updated: 2016-09-29
Packaged: 2018-08-18 14:34:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8165330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiggeryumyum/pseuds/tiggeryumyum
Summary: I just wanted to write about Jean's ass this is LITERALLY just ~3k about jean's ass





	

Jean is furious.

" _Armin_ drew up the map," he says, through his teeth. " _Connie_ was in charge of checking the gear. Fucking _Jaeger_ was supposed to be monitoring the check points – if _we_ get a demerit for this …" Jean stops there, seething, probably because he can't come up with a decent enough threat to fully convey the injustice. "I'll cram Connie's shiny bald head up Eren's ass."

Or not.

Marco says nothing, because Marco is a little preoccupied at the moment. 

They're in the middle of a vertical climb, having to crawl up the cliff manually, instead of zipping up in seconds with the 3DMG. A gas miscalculation left them stranded, forced to walk the obstacle course, around the lake, and they'll have at several kilometers to go once they reach the top of this cliff. It's exhausting, and how Jean has the breath to _complain_ as he climbs is beyond Marco. 

If it was just the climb itself, though, that'd be one thing.

"We're not getting back to camp in time for lights out, Shadis'll mark that against us, too," Jean says. "Best case scenario, we're running laps all night."

"Yeah," Marco says, dumbly, unable to focus on anything except the shape and movement of Jean's rear end.

Which, because of the cliff, is positioned directly in front of Marco's face.

It's not that Marco's never noticed Jean's ass before – it's just that he's made a pointed effort not to stare openly, since last year, when he noticed his eyes didn't just "happen" to drift there. That, in fact, he was actively eying the slender length of Jean's thighs, the curve of his hips and the plump roundness of his ass, that he hunted out that familiar dip and swell under the blankets when Jean was laying in bed, that the sight was, in fact, fascinating, and could hold his attention for hours if he didn't stop himself.

It's all that holds his attention as they climb, and he is literally breathless, from the exertion, and from allowing himself to finally consider something he hasn't allowed himself to even acknowledge the last year. 

He knows what Jean looks like underneath his clothes, generally. He's seen Jean's skin in bits and pieces, his shirtless chest when changing and naked thighs when stepping out of the shower. He knows, even, the crease of Jean's full ass, resting where it meets his slim thighs, and the gap that's created in-between. 

He knows the healthy bounce, up and down, when Jean's on a horse, standing just slightly in the saddle for speed. He knows the sway, back and forth, of his hips when he walks. 

Climbing is new, delicious movement he's never seen before, a circular stretch, a more pointed tilt of his hips, showcasing his ass in a brand new way.

Marco bites his lip.

He's touched Jean before. 

They've hugged. 

They've pressed against one another, side by side and front to back when crowded in. Marco's put his hand on Jean's shoulder, which is firm, and strong, and warm. 

Touching Jean's ass would be warm as well, but soft. 

It would give under his fingers when he gripped it properly, he could – cup the tempting flesh in his palm, dig his nails in, an urge he doesn't completely understand, but is thrumming through him hot and real just the same, strong enough to make him groan, deep in his chest.

"… isn't even the first time," Jean is still going strong, oblivious. "Next time I'm checking my own gear. And going over the map. And fucking – kicking Eren from a tree." 

"Yeah," Marco says again.

Once, after completing difficult exercise, Reiner slapped Jean's ass in celebration. Jean had yelped, and been annoyed, shouting after him, rubbing his rear. He'd been annoyed with Marco as well, because he'd been straight faced and seemingly unsympathetic – but he wasn't, he just couldn't risk showing any emotion whatsoever, afraid of what would spill out if he did.

Marco can't even let himself think it in his own head, but he imagines – how his palm would feel – the sharp sting, the bounce of Jean's cheeks – 

"Hey. You have good footing?"

"What?" Marco asks, irrationally panicked as Jean looks over his shoulder, down at Marco – he has to know. He has to see it in Marco's _face_.

"You're still on that outcrop thing – you have good footing?"

Marco looks down at his feet as though surprised to see them all the way up here. He is, indeed, on solid, sturdy ground at the moment, strong enough to hold his full weight.

"Give me a lift. I can't reach that branch."

Marco can literally feel the blush as it travels up his neck, his cheeks, to his forehead. 

"I – uh." Marco says. Jean's position is too unstable for a proper foot lift. Of course there are. Other places. Marco could grab. 

"What?" Jean says, he's looking down at Marco from over his shoulder, an impatient glare on his face. Somehow, the irritation, contrasted with his soft, heart shaped ass, canted slightly up in a very inviting posture, makes Marco swallow thickly. The want in him is only growing hotter, more specific, polished and pointed. But irritation suddenly drops in Jean's face. "You okay? You're not going to faint, are you?"

"No – I'm fine," Marco says, quickly.

"If you're going to faint," Jean continues, sure now that that's the problem. "Then we should take a break here."

"I'm _fine_ ," Marco says again, and shakes out his hands once, bringing them up, slowly, to Jean's thighs, just below – just below his ass. 

Jean's thighs, like the rest of him, are narrow. Marco's hands cup them easily, and he pushes up, helping Jean up the extra centimeters he needs to reach the next hand hold. The feel of Jean's muscles flexing under his hand, and under the fabric of Jean's pants, is breathtaking, and without thinking, Marco squeezes, just once. Jean doesn't notice, or just doesn't mention it, continuing his climb.

"We're almost there," Jean says, after a long period of silence, apparently still concerned about the fainting thing, enough to stop complaining, and Marco feels guilty, like the pervert he is. He forces himself to stare at the cliff wall, refusing to glance up, even when he gets a tempting glimpse of movement in his peripheral vision.

But he can still feel the phantom warmth of Jean's thighs against his palms, and there's a new development: Now that Jean isn't complaining, Marco can hear each breathless grunt, each pant, and the noises are translating as sexual to his already keyed up mind.

It's the fear too, from the situation, the steep climb and the exhaustion. His body takes the only positive energy it has and ramps it up to an extreme – 

Jean inhales sharply, and just like that, Marco's growing hard.

It's a horrifying realization, but Marco's own personal feelings don't seem to have much say in it either way. The kindling has been piling in his gut this entire climb, waiting for a spark, and touching Jean was basically a flame. He's growing stiffer as he climbs, his pants straining to adjust. It's cramped, but in a somehow satisfying way, and there's an urge to simply start rubbing off against the wall. He bites his lip, hard, but the pain does nothing to cool his erection – just what the hell is _wrong_ with him??

"Almost…" Jean grunts, reaching high, stretching to his limit, his arm over the ledge and feeling for something to grip properly. He finds it, and immediately pulls himself up and out of sight.

Marco closes his eyes, sighing in relief, but it only lasts a second.

"Here," Jean reaches back over, holding a helping hand out for Marco. Marco stares at it. "Marco?"

"I, uh."

"You what? Just like hanging out on the side of a cliff? What?" Jean says, jabbing his hand out again, frowning. He's getting worried. 

Marco's cock is at near full mast, showing no signs of waning any time soon, and it's all Marco can think about, pressed against the warm surface of the wall, as Jean waits for him to take his hand.

"Get up here already!" 

"F-fine," Marco says, grabbing his hand. "Just don't laugh, okay?"

Jean is puzzled, but doesn't stop yanking Marco up. 

_Maybe he won't notice_ … but of course as soon as he's made it to solid ground, Jean's eyes slide down his body. And stop. Just there. At the incredibly lewd bulge.

Jean yanks his hand back quickly. 

"What the fuck, Marco?" he says. 

"I'm sorry – "

"And I was worried you were going to faint??"

"I'm sorry, it just – " Marco says. "I wasn't staring – " _liar_ " – I tried not to, I mean." _Liar!_

Jean looks genuinely disgusted. "I get bucked off my horse and half the squad is there to see it," he says, ticking it off on his finger. "I lose a fight with Eren and mess hall is full of cadets. I make fun of Shadis and it turns out he's right behind me. The _one time_ you do something embarrassing." Jean gestures around them pointedly, arms spread wide. "No one would even believe it!"

Marco's legs are still limp from the climb, and he can only give a short bark of laughter. "Sorry, Jean."

Jean waves it off, still disgusted, but in a way Marco can recognize as a joke, now. "Let's rest here for a while. They might send a team to… Wait." Jean frowns. "What did you mean, _staring_?"

"Uh."

"Staring at what?" Jean says. Jean is smart. Jean is annoyingly perceptive, and Marco can only watch in growing terror as Jean's mind works with the pieces it has, filling in the empty bits seamlessly. 

And then he grins.

"I'm sorry!" Marco says, yet again, choking on his humiliation, covering his face. 

" _Seriously_ , Marco?" Jean says, and, clearly, this is a game to him. He's all but cackling as he runs his thumb under the band of gear wrapped around his upper thigh, releasing it, and it _snaps_ back against his thigh, left cheek shakes just slightly from the movement. 

Marco closes his eyes, inhaling a hitching breath at the sight, the heat practically doubling in his gut. His body thinks he is in bed, that's the only time he's felt this aroused, in privacy and quiet, and he has to literally resist the urge to grab for his own cock. 

"Wow," Jean says, observing this reaction, and while he still sounds amused, is a little more serious about it now.

"Jean," Marco practically begs, not appreciating this teasing. Jean can be deliberately cruel, but he's usually his meanest when he's not trying to be, when he thinks it's funny, a joke, a game. "You're right. Let's take a break here, they'll probably send out a search team."

"Alright," Jean says, letting it drop, but there's an obnoxious grin on his face, and an obvious swagger in his step when he turns around, heading toward the edge of the forest just to their left. Marco waits a moment, takes a few deep, composing breaths, then follows.

They're silent as they gather the dead branches on the forest floor. It's a warm day, they don't need a fire for heat or for food, but smoke is the best way to get the attention of anyone looking for them, and they quickly set up the pit.

~

"You can touch it."

Jean says it out of nowhere, a long while later. Marco immediately knows what he means, and his face is suddenly so hot he doesn't know if he'll survive it. 

"Don't just – _say_ something like that," Marco says, through his teeth.

"I mean it," Jean says, looking off to the side with forced nonchalance. "If you want to. It's not a big deal." 

Marco's not sure – Jean's expression is a little guarded, somewhat boasting – but if that's because he embarrassed about wanting _Marco_ , or if he's just excited about being seen as sexual and wanting to capitalize on that, Marco can't say. 

"You were so mad when Reiner did it…" 

Jean is confused for a beat, clearly doesn't even remember at first, and when he does, rolls his eyes. They're sitting on either side of the fire, and Jean shuffles over to sit in front of Marco on his knees. "That was _Reiner_."

"So?'

"So. You're not Reiner." Jean grabs both of Marco's hands, twines their fingers together, and brings them behind his back, sliding easily into the back pockets of his pants. 

"Wha – you – _Jean_ ," he says, when Jean pulls his own hands free, _abandoning Marco_ with his _hands_ on Jean's _ass_ , he needs some kind of support, and panics for a moment. He flexes all over, pulling Jean closer to him on instinct and – gripping his ass harder. He'd like to be a better man, to resist, but apparently Marco is very, very mortal. "God," he says, ducking his head down to Jean's shoulder, closing his eyes and feeling, _feeling_ Jean's pert, firm cheeks. 

They are soft, softer than they have any right to be, and Marco quickly grows frustrated with the limited space of the tiny back pockets. He pulls his hands out and spreads his fingers wide – hesitant to touch, his hands hovering, unable to believe this is actually happening – then he's palming each cheek, squeezing just slightly, just a test, before squeezing harder, learning the shape and the feel of them. 

Jean's breathing hitches, and Marco pauses – 

"It's okay," Jean says, quickly. He's blushing, bright across the bridge of his nose, and quickly turns his face away when he sees Marco staring. But he leans in closer, spreading his legs in invitation. He's growing hard. Marco wasn't sure, at first, if this was just something Jean was trying out, if actually wanted it, but there's definite interest pressing up against Marco's own, and Marco moans in excitement, relief, his touch growing bolder, growing greedier. 

He slides lower, following the crease of Jean's pants to where it disappears from view, swallowed between his cheeks. It's warmest there, in that spot, and he presses against it, fascinated by that heat. Then he moves up again, spreading his cheeks and watching as the come back together, feeling the healthy bounce of them. 

" _Fuck_ ," he breathes, quietly. He wants to feel Jean's ass with nothing in the way; he wants to feel flesh.

Marco rests his fingers just against the small of Jean's back, a question as the tip of his fingers creep beneath the fabric. 

It takes Jean a beat, but then he's answering by way of eagerly unbuckling his belt, unthreading it, undoing the fastens of his pants, and this time he wraps one arm over Marco's shoulders, bracing himself, the other landing on Marco's hip and squeezing tight.

"Okay," he says, voice very serious, trying to cover his excitement. 

Marco exhales slowly, letting his hungry hands travel where they want, down, down, warm, soft skin, and the sight of his own hands underneath the fabric, fondling Jean's ass, is literally beyond any fantasy Marco's ever had.

Carefully, ready to stop if Jean asks it, Marco's fingers travel deeper again, to that hypnotic warm, between the cheeks, to – Marco blushes as he nears it, Jean's – entrance. 

Jean _moans_. 

It's stifled, Jean hitches his shoulders up and tries to hide it, but it happened, and Marco immediately presses his fingers up, feeling out that spot, shifting his leg to slide between Jean's thighs. Jean's thighs clamp down on it immediately, which is, by far, the most arousing thing Marco's ever felt in his life. 

He pushes up again, and Jean hisses out a swear, grinding against Marco's thigh, against Marco's hip, indulgent and wanting rolls of his hips – he wants to get off. He wants to come from Marco, _on_ Marco.

Marco did not anticipate Jean's reaction, having to deal with both the feel of Jean's ass and Jean's pleasure, and isn't sure he can handle it, the arousal making his head swim. He's going to come, and the cramped space he has to work with between Jean's legs is a frustrating challenge, but he keeps his fingers working, sliding deeper until he can feel the press of Jean's balls, pulled up and tight against his body in a familiar way – Jean is about to come. Keeping one hand there, pressing and rubbing in a way that makes Jean shiver and arch so wonderfully, Marco pulls out his other hand, gripping Jean's left cheek roughly, and – feeling slightly punch drunk, he does what he's been wanting to do for over a year. 

He lifts his hand, and _smacks!_

" _A-ah!_ F-fuck -" Jean's coming biting down on his own fingers as his hips snap almost violently.

Marco gasps, ducking his head back down into Jean's shoulder, digging his nails into Jean's ass and coming, grinding his hips against Jean's shuddering body, and they both cling to one another as their movements slow, and calm, and sanity finally asserts itself in Marco's mind for the first time in what feels like hours.

"God," Marco says, feeling as though he was just whacked upside the head in the best way possible. 

"We should clean up," Jean says, grimacing down between them. 

Jean's pants are a lewd sight, rucked down and open roughly, but spared the mess. Marco didn't even undo his belt. He has two wet spots, and the sight of Jean's come, just beside his own, is so arousing he can't even bring himself to be anything but pleased, though that will probably change if a search party arrives any time soon. 

Jean sighs and shifts as though getting ready to stand, but before he can, Marco finally moves one hand from Jean's ass, to the back of his neck, asking for a kiss – Jean easily has enough leverage to pull away, and for a moment Marco thinks he will; that this was fun, but not the sort of intimacy Jean wants. But then Jean's practically falling into it, pushing up against Marco with just as much enthusiasm as he'd had seconds earlier.

It's not often you get moments of privacy like this in training, and oddly, it's not during the even itself but afterward, when Jean slumps against his side, head on his shoulder, that Marco actually appreciates that. They're both exhausted from their – exercise, drained, and it is nice to recover in the peaceful quiet, to take their time pull themselves back together. There's no rush, and if they have to run laps, Marco thinks they'll be the best earned laps he's ever done.


End file.
